


i feel you love (like a punch in the heart)

by cookiemonsta



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 21:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1703894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiemonsta/pseuds/cookiemonsta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda to 2.09: Steve's house isn't a home without Danny.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	i feel you love (like a punch in the heart)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [debarouchi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/debarouchi/pseuds/debarouchi), who is the Danno to my Steve in every way. Love you, girl. <333

The drive back to Steve's place – Danny resists the urge to call it home – takes longer than usual and Danny would chalk that down to the fact that it's the end of a stressful week, or that Steve's just tired, but he knows that's a lie. There's something in the way Steve grips the wheel; tight and unrelenting, that is telling in a way Danny can't ignore.

The brand new pair of headphones in his lap are a testament to that fact, because every now and then Steve will tear his eyes from the road and slant his gaze sideways at them, then at Danny, before his eyes settle on the road once more. It's like an irritating little feedback loop repeating over and over again, and after Steve runs through the sequence for the fourth time, Danny finally snaps.  
  
“What,” he says, “What is it, Steven? There something on your mind you'd like to share? Because despite my vast array of skills – and trust me they are _vast_ – mind reading is currently not counted as one of them. So just spit it out, okay? Or the wind's gonna change and your face will stay like that.”  
  
“Like _what_?” Steve says after a moment. “My face is fine, alright?”  
  
“Sure, whatever,” Danny says, because honestly, he's just not in the mood for this. By now it's routine for him to play detective and try to decipher the true meaning behind Steve's mood swings – it's pretty much a part of his goddamned job description if he's being honest – but between the lack of sleep (goddamned waves and their crashing) and the gnawing ache that's been there ever since Steve gave him the headphones, Danny's just _tired_ of it.  
  
The rest of the drive passes by in heavy silence, and Danny feels smothered under the weight of all the things they aren't saying to each other.  
  
When the familiar stretch of Steve's driveway looms into view, Danny releases a breath he didn't know he was holding and braces himself for the onslaught. What he's not prepared for is the way Steve puts the car in park and cuts the engine – without so much as a word or a glance in his direction – and Danny is struck by the idea that Steve's disquiet runs so deep that he can't actually bear to look at him.  
  
The thought _aches_ , low in his belly, and it's enough to propel Danny out of the car and towards the house.  
  
Steve doesn't follow.  
  
Danny takes the rejection for what it is because now, at least, he knows that something is wrong.  
  
From the moment they first met, each of them have conformed to whatever rules are put in place to define their partnership – Danny is loud where Steve is quiet, gentle where Steve is rough – but that's not the reason why Danny's heart is a frantic, staccato rhythm in his chest. No, he knows all of this about Steve, about _them_ ; he knows that there has always been push and pull between them, equal force met with equal resistance, but more than anything, he knows where the boundaries are.  
  
These past few weeks at Steve's have done nothing but blur the lines, and Danny feels the difference even more pointedly now than he did in the car. He is the force, and Steve is the immovable object; but for the first time, Danny is pushing and Steve isn't pushing back.  
  
He shoves his things haphazardly into a worn out duffle bag and shoulders it, resisting the urge to take one last look at Steve's home, at whatever it is they could have been to each other.  
  
When Danny heads back outside Steve is leaning against the Camaro, his face tilted against the setting sun. It paints him in shades of amber and gold, finding his hollows, and for a moment all Danny can do is stare.  
  
Steve meets his eyes then, something raw and unreadable in them that clenches painfully in Danny's gut, and Danny swallows against the lump that forms in his throat. It's now or never, he decides. They're stuck in a holding pattern that neither of them knows how to break, and Danny knows that whatever he's about to do will change things for good. For better or worse, he doesn't know. What he does know is that in these situations, there's always a first move.  
  
Danny makes it.  
  
“I don't get you, McGarrett,” Danny says, and he doesn't miss the way Steve's gaze refocuses on him with the intensity of a laser beam. “You let me stay in your house, with your stupid goddamned navy showers – which are a bullshit, by the way – and your early morning swims and the goddamned fucking torture machine that is the ocean, and I put up with it because you're giving me a place to crash while I sort my shit out. Which I appreciate, okay? I do.”  
  
“It's not –” Steve tries, but Danny cuts him off.  
  
“But then you _blind_ side me with those goddamned headphones,” Danny says, feeling ten kinds of stupid, “which to me are more than just headphones, okay? They're _loaded_ headphones, with fucking emotional baggage up the wah-zoo, so forgive me for – for getting my signals crossed or whatever, but anyway. I put up with this stuff because, because – ”  
  
“Da – ”  
  
“Nope, let me finish,” Danny says over him. “I want you to know that I put up with all of this, not just because I am an amazing specimen of a human being, but because for some reason, you make me happy, okay? Like deliriously fucking happy, and I've been through enough shit to know that I deserve to be happy.”  
  
The noise Steve makes then – an aching, terrible sound that forms around Danny's name – is nothing compared to the way Steve visibly crumples before Danny's eyes.  
  
The duffle on his shoulder lands with a thud as Danny crosses the lawn in six strides and takes hold of Steve's arms, digging his fingers into Steve's shoulders and pressing his forehead against the warmth of Steve's brow.  
  
“I thought you were trying to, you know, say something to me,” Danny says, his throat working hard around the syllables, “With the headphones, I thought – ”  
  
Steve's voice is threadbare as he rasps, “I was, I was,” before he closes the distance between them and presses his mouth against Danny's.  
  
Steve tastes like salt, like the ocean, and Danny plunges into the kiss headfirst, threading his hands into Steve's hair and pressing their bodies impossibly closer. “We're so fucking stupid, babe,” Danny says against Steve's mouth, and the huff of Steve's laughter against his lips feels a long time coming.  
  
In the fading light, Steve presses Danny against the Camaro, his body a long line of heat against Danny's own, and says, “ _Want you to stay_ ,” into Danny's neck like it's the only question he ever needs an answer to.  
  
Danny's response – a filthy, desperate kiss and a ragged _yeah_ against fevered skin – is answer enough.

_I feel you love, like a punch in the heart,_  
_'cause every time you're near I'm back to the start,_  
_and the wheels keep taking me back to your street,_  
_where I would press you against the bonnet just to feel your heat,_  
_where I would press you against the bonnet just to keep our heat_


End file.
